'Move out of the way, people,' screamed a white-coated orderly as he raced down the corridor of the hospital with the gurneys that carried those most severely wounded in the Silent Gold gunfight.  'Let these people through!' he shouted, as hospital visitors, wandering patients and uninvited press photographers jumped out of the way.  Directly behind the orderly the Doctor, Ben and Polly followed, desperately trying to keep up with him.

Suddenly a dark shadow crossed their paths as a large security guard stepped out to block their way.  'Excuse me, sir,' he said, pointing at the Doctor, 'no members of the public are allowed here.  If you'll kindly move to the waiting room, someone will be with you shortly.'

'But you don't understand,' the Doctor pleaded, pointing down the corridor at the disappearing gurneys.  'I'm related to one of the injured.'

The security guard was having none of it.  'As I said, go to the waiting room and someone will come to talk to you soon.  They'll let you know what's happening.'

The Doctor looked as if he was about to argue, but obviously realised this was a lost cause, so instead he turned round an walked away, his face like a sulky toddler's.  'Come on Polly, Ben,' he said.  'We'll have to do as the man says.'

Ben didn't care what they did.  He had been about to get some sleep when the Doctor had sent an urgent message to the hotel insisting that he and Polly get to the hospital as quickly as the could.  At first Ben thought the Doctor had been injured, but now realised that he just wanted them around to show off the exciting night he had been through.  Ben's night had been peaceful, Polly's had been relaxing.  The Doctor had got himself mixed up in a multiple shooting.  Typical.  It was almost 2 a.m. and Ben just wanted to go to bed.

'How long do we have to stay here, Doctor,' he complained as they made their way into the waiting room and found some seats.  'I'm knackered!  Can't we just deal with all this in the morning?'

The Doctor seemed to contemplate this for a couple of seconds, then shook his head.  'No... no, I don't think so.  I'm finding all this rather fascinating, and I don't think the events of tonight have played out fully yet.  You can go back if you like, but I think you'll be glad if you stay.'

Their attention was distracted as a tall man in a heavy black trench coat marched into the room.  He took his hat off, revealing a balding head with deep-set features and a small but very visible knife scar along his left cheek.

'Which of you guys is the Doctor?' the man asked in a voice that had only a light American accent.

The Doctor seemed to snap out of a daydream, leapt to his feet then reached his arm out to shake the stranger's hand.  'Why, that would be me,' he said, rather pleased with himself.  'It's a pleasure to meet you.  And you are...'

The man shook the Doctor's hand tightly, smiled, released his grip then cleared his throat before speaking.  'My name's Leonard De Sande.  I take it you don't follow the motion picture industry, Doctor?'

'I've been out of touch for a while,' the Doctor admitted.  'I tend to stick to books for entertainment, I'm afraid.  Far more me.'

De Sande nodded, understanding but not sympathising.  'Then it's not surprising you don't know my work.'

'You some bigwig film star?' asked Ben.

`You know these guys, Doctor?' De Sande asked.

The Doctor nodded and De Sande turned to Ben, chuckling.  'My British friend, I'm a director currently working for Star Light Pictures.  You must have seen my past work.  The Cold Blooded?  The Sword of Damocles?'